There is no feeling of desolation so complete as that which sweeps overone who is utterly alone in a great city at night. The desert, the Arcticwilderness, the heart of the forest, the boundless sea, all these havetheir terrors, but for downright desolation give me the heart of astrange city at night.
Hardly had Lucile covered two blocks on her journey from the book shopwhen this feeling of utter loneliness engulfed her like a bank of fog.Shuddering, she paused to consider, and, as she did so, fancied shecaught the bulk of a shadow disappearing into a doorway to the right ofher.
"Where am I and where am I to go?" she asked herself in a wild attempt togather her scattered senses. In vain she endeavored to recall the name ofthe street she was on at that moment. Her efforts to recall the route shehad taken in getting there were quite as futile.
"Wish I were in Chicago," she breathed. "The very worst of it is betterthan this. There at least I have friends somewhere. Here I have noneanywhere. Wish Florence were here."
At that she caught herself up; there was no use in wishing for thingsthat could not be. The question was, what did she intend to do? Was sheto seek out a hotel and spend the night there, to resume her search forthe first person in America who had sold the ancient copy of the Angler,or was she to take the first train back to Chicago? She had a feelingthat she had seen the man she sought and that weeks of search might notreveal him again; yet she disliked going back to Frank Morrow with solittle to show for his hundred dollars invested.
"Anyway," she said at last with a shudder, "I've got to get out of here.Boo! it seems like the very depths of the slums!"
She started on at a brisk pace. Having gone a half block she faced aboutsuddenly; she fancied she heard footsteps behind her. She saw nothing butan empty street.
"Nerves," she told herself. "I've got to get over that. I know what's thematter with me though; I haven't eaten for hours. I'll find a restaurantpretty soon and get a cup of coffee."
There is a strange thing about our great cities; in certain sections youmay pass a half dozen coffee shops and at least three policemen in asingle block; in other sections you may go an entire mile without seeingeither. Evidently, eating places, like policemen, crave company of theirown kind. Lucile had happened upon a policeless and eat-shopless sectionof New York. For a full twenty minutes she tramped on through the fog,growing more and more certain at every step that she was being followedby someone, and not coming upon a single person or shop that offered hereither food or protection.
Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a throng of people. A movietheater had disgorged this throng. Like a sudden flood of water, theysurrounded her and bore her on. They poured down the street to break upinto two smaller streams, one of which flowed on down the street and theother into a hole in the ground. Having been caught in the latter stream,and not knowing what else to do, eager for companionship of whateversort, the girl allowed herself to be borne along and down into the hole.Down a steep flight of steps she was half carried, to be at lastdeposited on a platform, alongside of which in due time a train ofelectric cars came rattling in.
"The subway," she breathed. "It will take me anywhere, providing I knowwhere I want to go."
Just as she was beginning to experience a sense of relief from contactwith this flowing mass of humanity she was given a sudden shock. To theright of her, through a narrow gap in the throng, she recognized a face.The gap closed up at once and the face disappeared, but the image of itremained. It was the face of the man she had seen in the shop, he of thebirthmark on his chin.
"No doubt of it now," she said half aloud. "He _is_ following me." Then,like some hunted creature of the wild, she began looking about her for away of escape. Before her there whizzed a train. The moving cars came toa halt. A door slid open. She leaped within. The next instant the doorclosed and she was borne away. To what place? She could not tell. All sheknew was that she was on her way.
Quite confident that she had evaded her pursuer, she settled back in herseat to fall into a drowsy stupor. How far she rode she could not tell.Having at last been roused to action by the pangs of hunger, she rose andleft the car. "Only hope there is some place to eat near," she sighed.
Again she found herself lost in a jam; the legitimate theaters weredisgorging their crowds. She was at this time, though she did not knowit, in the down town district.
Her right hand was disengaged; in her left she carried a small leatherbag. As she struggled through the throng, she experienced difficulty inretaining her hold on this bag. Of a sudden she felt a mighty wrench onits handle and the next instant it was gone. There could be no mistakingthat sudden pull. It had been torn from her grasp by a vandal of somesort. As she turned with a gasp, she caught sight of a face that vanishedinstantly, the face of the man with the birthmark on his chin.
Instantly the whole situation flashed through her mind; this man had beenfollowing her to regain possession of one or both of the books which atthis moment reposed in her coat pocket. He had made the mistake ofthinking these books were in the bag. He would search the bag and then--
She reasoned no further; a car door was about to close. She dashedthrough it at imminent risk of being caught in the crush of its swing andthe next instant the car whirled away.
"Missed him that time," she breathed. "He will search the bag. When hediscovers his mistake it will be too late. The bird has flown. As to thebag, he may keep it. It contains only a bit of a pink garment which I canafford to do without, and two clean handkerchiefs."
Fifteen minutes later when she left the car she found herself in a verymuch calmer state of mind. Convinced that she had shaken herself freefrom her undesirable shadow, and fully convinced also that nothing nowremained but to eat a belated supper and board the next train for herhome city, she went about the business of finding out what that nexttrain might be and from what depot it left.
Fortunately, a near-by hotel office was able to furnish her theinformation needed and to call a taxi. A half hour later she foundherself enjoying a hot lunch in the depot and at the same time mentallyreveling in the soft comfort of "Lower 7" of car 36, which she was soonto occupy.